


Fly me to the Moon.

by sagelabyrinth



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Panic Attacks, Singing, Stress, partially a casefic??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagelabyrinth/pseuds/sagelabyrinth
Summary: Holden... Sings.





	Fly me to the Moon.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proofread so oops.
> 
> I just needed to write something sweet, okay??

Bill always assumed Holden liked to sing. When they'd have long car rides, Holden would quietly and mindlessly hum along to whatever song came on the radio.

Sometimes he'd come into the office singing to himself while reading files, or typing up long reports. And every once in a while, he'd hum to himself during one of his "fits".

But, the one thing Bill didn't know, was how _good_ Holden was at singing. He'd never heard the younger man _actually sing_ before. Until they shared a room in Jefferson City, Missouri.

A man named Robertson Hall had killed seven children between May 1981 to January 1982. All his victims were younger than ten, all boys, all had brown hair and blue eyes. They were taken from parks all over the state, bound, sexually assaulted, strangled, and dumped like garbage into rivers. The only way the locals caught the guy was because he got greedy. Tried to snatch his neighbor's kid. Ended up confessing to all the murders.

The case had clearly gotten to Holden. Cases with kids usually did. They got to Bill too obviously, he had a son, but it was just... Different. For Holden.

The younger agent didn't eat, barely slept, and he had two of his "fits" during their two-day interview process.

"God," Bill grumbled as they left the state prison, "that was fucking useless." he tossed his half-burned cigarette on the ground and stomped it with his foot.

Robertson offered absolutely nothing and just toyed with Bill the entire time. At one point, he had made a pass at Holden.

_"You've got pretty eyes, just like my boys." Robertson grimly smiled. The phrase "my boys." hung in the air._

Holden didn't reply, just trotted off to the car, pale white and slightly shaking.

"Shit, are you having a fit?" Bill inquired, trying hard to comfort the other man by gently placing a hand on his back.

Bill didn't _understand_ Holden's "fits", but he wanted to help him.

"Think so..." Holden said quietly, nodding his head slightly. Bill guided him to the car and helped him inside, "Sit here. Breathe." he commanded.

Holden nodded and folded in on himself. Bill cranked the car on and turned on the radio, music helped, he knew that.

Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra came on. The scratchiness of the old recording seemed to be calming. Holden relaxed, his breathing began to become less ragged and harsh.

The drive back to their hotel was quiet, with only the buzzing from the radio and Holden's soft humming to fill the air.

"Get a shower, you stink." Bill stated as they got in the room. 

Holden sniffed his suit jacket and grimaced, "You're right." he promptly turned around and went to the shower.

Bill heard the water turn on and decided to take this opportunity to go and pick up a case of beer. Maybe some more cigarettes too. Wendy had told him _"Do not leave Holden alone."_ , but if the kid was in the shower, what was the harm?

He was gone less than ten minutes, and Holden was still showering when he entered the room again. Except for this time, Bill heard something... Music?

It was Fly Me To The Moon again, but there was no radio in the hotel room. It took him a second to realize it was Holden. Singing. And singing very well at that. He was hitting the notes exactly.

Bill pressed his ear against the door to listen...

_ **You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. In other words, please be true. In other words, in other words, I love... You.** _

Bill was... Impressed. The kid had pipes.

He then heard the water shut off and quickly moved back. After a few minutes, Holden emerged from the bathroom, steam emitting from the doorway.

"Shower hot enough?" Bill joked.

Holden shook his head and sighed, "Not even close." he plopped himself down on the bed. He looked upset still, like Robertson's words were still playing in his mind.

"You're good," Bill began, trying to distract him, "singing. I mean. I heard you in the shower."

Holden turned slightly red and cleared his throat, "Sorry."

Bill scoffed, "Don't apologize, it was nice. Didn't know you sounded like that." Holden couldn't stop the small smile that etched itself on his face.

"Thank you. I wanted to be a singer when I was younger, I used to sing in church."

"What stopped you?"

"My dad." Holden sighed, "He said it was impractical, called me a fag."

Bill felt a sense of uneasiness wash over him, "Sounds like your dad's an asshole."

Holden let out of small chuckle, "Yeah." he paused, "He really was."

Unsurprisingly, Holden didn't take up on Bill's offer for dinner, and was already asleep by the time the older man returned.

Bill couldn't get what Holden had said about his dad out of his though.

What kind of father berates his son for doing something he enjoys? Something he's _good at_, at that? Certainly, not the kind of father Bill aspires to be.

-

It was weeks after the Robertson Hall interviews and everything seemed okay. Holden hadn't had one of his fits in awhile, anyway.

Bill invited Wendy and Holden out to a bar after an unusually boring office day. Gregg too, but his daughter was sick, or had a school play? He wasn't really listening.

Nonetheless, the trio went out. The bar was quiet, dim lights, a pianist taking requests, and... Karaoke. A smile etches itself across Bill's face at this. He remembered something from a few weeks ago...

"Why don't you go up there, Ford?" Bill playfully suggested, motioning toward the small "stage".

A quick flash of red appeared on Holden's face. "You sing?" Wendy inquired.

"Oh yeah," Bill answered before Holden could fully shake his head "no", "and he's quite good."

"Well, let's hear it then." Wendy requested.

"Oh, I don't know about th-" Bill cut Holden off by yanking him from the barstool onto his feet, "Come on!"

The next thing he knew, Holden was thrusted up toward a small microphone. "What's your strong suit?" the pianist questioned.

Holden stammered for a second before he fully understood the question, "Oh! Uh, Fly Me To The Moon?" 

The pianist nodded and counted him down, "1... 2... 3..." he began playing.

Quickly easing his mind, Holden began to sing. Flawlessly. Not a care in the world. Everything around him disappeared, and it was just him and the piano.

**Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore...**

"He _is _good." Wendy quietly remarked.

"Yeah," Bill smiled, "he is."


End file.
